Technology: finally out of hand

By: Michael Szeto

Posted: 10/9/08

My name is Emma Brodie and I am a Luddite. Well, that's not entirely fair. I love my computer. I love my phone. I love love love anything on wheels. And technically, to this day, I have never intentionally done anything to brutally damage or sabotage a machine.

OK, not true. That time my mom's computer was over heating and she thought the next logical step was to stick it in the fridge, I knew that was a bad idea, but I let her do it anyway. Can you blame me? (Besides, next to those freaks at blendit.com, this is child's play).

Anyway, though I am by nature a peace-loving, light-hearted sort of gal, there are certain niches in society which I feel technology has invaded in an inappropriate way. Let's just say, it grinds my gears.

For one thing, I hate it when my elevator talks to me. "Going down," the woman says in her acidly sweet tone of voice. Going down on who? It's like she's mocking me for riding from the first floor to the lobby.

Fact: It's actually harder on your body to descend than to ascend. She should think about that before she makes another student feel inadequate, and possibly fall down the stairs to their death, a fate which would never have befallen them had they not felt so intimidated by the queen of the cage.

Here's another thing I hate: automatic toilets. I'll decide when I'm finished, thank you very much. How dare they impose a limit on my bladder. What is this, America? Land of the Pee? Home of the get-out-of-the-stall?

If it's not on a timer it's a motion detector, which is equally bad: For God's sake, if you don't sit absolutely 100 percent still on the toilet you end up flushing approximately eight times, the equivalent of the water supply of a small country. Oops, sorry Dubai, you don't get water this month because Emma Brodie didn't sit still enough on the can.

The toilets are just the start of it actually: Bathroom appliances in general promote upheaval and uncleanliness. First there's the sink. You have to hold your hands in exactly the right spot, otherwise no water will commeth.

Speaking of which, automatic soap dispensers? I can't be the only person who feels violated by spurts of goop randomly squirting at my hands. Argh!

And then, if you finally do manage to lather rinse repeat, it takes 20 minutes to dry your hands because either you're waiting under the automatic dryer watching your skin age or you're patiently extracting six by four squares of paper towel from the wall dispenser. I'm sorry, but a four-year-old needs more paper towels than that, and that's not just because he'd eat half of it.

My disapproval of bathroom equipment pales in comparison to the hatred I feel for automated phone menus. Oh. My. God. Give me a real person before I find the location of whatever satellite this is broadcasting from and send a hoard of raccoons into space to shred it to pieces.

The good news is that I've found if you shout at them long enough, they get confused and eventually forward you to a real person.

The one downside of this is, as whatever recording you're forced to interact with so pleasantly reminds you at the beginning of each transcendant converation, this conversation is being recorded for quality assurance purposes.

It's like Linda Trip and George Orwell teamed up and created a whole new market for creepiness. I'm always scared that they have tapes of me on my various rants stored in a warehouse next to the Arc of the Covenant and Scully's missing medical information, but I guess that's to be expected.

Am I asking that we return to the outhouse system? No. Do I think we should each have our own chamber pots that we dump out the window on to N. Charles Street every morning? Not unless the school provides each student with goggles and a poncho. But can't we just do this New Jersey rest stop style and kick the lever on the back of the toilet like everybody else? Isn't it better to do some things for yourself?

I don't know. Call me old-fashioned but is it so bad to have to interact with a real human being every once in a while? I wouldn't mind. Just as long as they're not hanging out in my toilet stall.